I know the deep night ballet and its seasons best from waking long after midnight to tend a baby and, sitting in the dark, seeing the shadows and hearing the sounds of the sidewalk. Mostly it is a sound like infinitely pattering snatches of party conversations. (p53)
It is lines like these, poetically written, that show Jacobs’ recognition of the wholeness of the system without throwing away her balance. She’s able to appreciate the social desires of a young mother and how the city compensates for that void, yet still keeps a practical mind. She doesn’t try to wish away her parental responsibility, but only basks in the social compensation that the city provides.
I’ve taken a bit of a poetic turn with these entries of late.